The Road to 65, Mile 218: Independence

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 6, 2015 in Personal goals, Social

July 4, 2015, Prescott- It is a strange twist of fate that, on this 239th anniversary of the issuance of the Declaration of Independence, many Americans’ minds, and those of others around the world, are on Athens, the Birthplace of Democracy and now a seeming hotbed of rebellion against a global system that emphasizes money and profit as indicators of responsible behaviour.

There are several schools of thought about this global system. Many here in the United States are convinced that it is the work of a tightly-knit group of families, whose specific identities are unknown and are called, collectively, Illuminati. Dozens of TV series,and a few movies, have featured this entity, in various configurations, as their Archvillain. Christians immediately identify it as serving the Antichrist, or maybe being It.

I only know that such a controlling presence, if real, would only suffocate and oppress the human spirit. Working for wages has never been liberating, and only adopting an ethic of work as an act of worship, of service to humanity, has given most of us any kind of fulfillment. My best years of working were when I was a school counselor, followed, oddly enough, by my years as a substitute teacher. Most prospective employers who’ve looked at my resume have shaken their heads at this, and the selection process has ended for me, then and there.

Work, though, has to be an act of service, because our humanity is what we take with us, and besides, acts of service, in the long run, are what make us independent. Money can be taken from a person, by the government, by creditors, and, in the form of lost investments, by a collapsing economy in a place far away. One’s accomplishments and relationships, however, can never be taken away.

I thought about all this tonight, as my good friend was driving us back from viewing the fireworks at Pioneer Park, on the northwest corner of town. Her concerns are with an imposed world government, and contrived financial collapse. These things are possible, but study of the teachings of various faiths and some secular philosophies tells us that they are not the End Game. Each of us has individual DNA and each of us has a distinct soul. We are, by nature, independent and will only successfully act in a collective manner, if our acts of service lead to a collective consciousness.

As I saw the other night, on “The Celestine Prophecies”, that consciousness, and not an externally-imposed mindset or false world order, represents the next step in the evolution of the human spirit. This is chosen by each of us, in healthy independence.

The Road to 65, Mile 217: More Than

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 5, 2015 in Personal goals, Social

July 3, 2015- I encountered two online posts by women, today. One was a TED Talk, by a fashion model. The other was a blog post by a young friend, part of her ongoing exploration of who, and what, she is.

We thrive on the superficial, many of us, because it seems easier. Men ogle attractive females, from girls not even old enough to drive a car, or hold down a job to those women deemed by society to have “preserved well with age.” Women have their share of “Magic Mike” and Chippendales moments. There is not much difference, in such as we do in that regard, from a trip to the zoo. Now, to fend off any troll who may be sharpening his rhetorical knife as he reads this- Yes, I have had my share of such superficiality.

It’s time to move up the evolutionary scale, a few notches, however. I was married to a physically lovely woman, with a winsome personality, who was also several points higher than I, in terms of intelligence. Since she passed on, my friendships with women have been varied. In each case, I have learned to place their sense of self-worth, first and foremost. I was not a perfect husband, but Penny taught me that much about friendship across the much vaunted Gender Divide. We were best friends, as well as spouses. Anticipation of the other’s needs is part of it, and direct communication, another.

Of the utmost importance, though, as the young model and my blogging friend both attest, is that there is always more, far more, to any given human being, than the pretty face, lithe figure and statuesque bearing that seem to mean so much, to so many in society. I thought of this, constantly, during a recent visit to Spokane. As I walked from my motel to downtown, I passed a billboard featuring the singer/actress Taylor Swift. The ad stressed her features, and makeup. My immediate thought was “There is so much more to you than this, precious soul.”

Those dismissed as “eye candy” may buy into that shallow assessment. The human spirit, however, is a hard taskmaster. A pigeonholed person will act in restless fashion, and will either: Seek attention in unhealthy ways; will meekly submit and then fade into obscurity, as the feckless lose interest; or will, as the late, and estimable, Hedy Lamarr did, combine a healthy respect for her natural beauty with a vigourous pursuit of her intellectual skills. The same is true for men, though on a lesser scale.

The closest of my friends, both female and male, are those with whom I can carry on meaningful conversation, can engage in interesting activities or just sit in one another’s presence, each doing what is foremost in their personal realm. The key is mutual regard, a belief in the ability of the friend to reach whatever heights one’s soul seeks and a willingness to let go of limiting personal agendas. There are those in my life, conversely, who are often calculating what I might do FOR them. They see little of me. I have enough to do, to pay back those who have shown me great kindness, but that’s a topic for another post.

To each, falls the task of scaling one’s own mountain, and triumphantly setting foot on one’s own moon.

The Road to 65, Mile 206: Evergreen Crossings, Day 4- Cascades and Coulees

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 4, 2015 in Hiking and Nature, Social, Travel

June 22, 2015, Wilbur, WA- The day started with getting laundry done, in Monroe, at one of the more expensive laundromats I’ve seen in a while. It uses an Easy Card, so the fare is purchased in advance, for laundry supplies, washer and dryer. I did everything in one load,as is my wont, when on the road.

I passed Travelers Park, before turning right onto Highway 2 East.

On the way out of town, I gave a short ride to three people, who my intuition said, correctly, were good risks. They had no interest in me, other than to know why I was here, from Arizona- a reasonable query of a stranger. Eight miles further, I let them off, at a place called Gold Bar.

My next stop, however, was a tough little town called Skykomish, which has about 500 people who still support a weekly bus service to Monroe and have their own school district. It was founded as a rail stop, by routing engineer John Stevens, for whom nearby Stevens Pass is named. This old building used to be Skykomish Hotel.

The rest of the town also has a frontier air about it, still.

I had lunch (leftover lasagna) at a picnic table facing the main street. Then, it was on to Deception Falls.

This popular trail, at the foot of Stevens Pass, offers the three cascades of Deception Creek.

Note the relative purity of the water.

The trees provide variety in the scenery, especially as they lean,

serve as springboard stumps,

or act as nesting pots for new trees.

or, still as a place to drive piles.

Meanwhile,back at the falls:

There was a plenitude of visitors, yet much of the time, I found myself alone, as most people gathered at two overlooks.

The road led next to Leavenworth, not the Federal prison, but the touristy mountain community, about forty minutes from Wenatchee. The Wenatchee River is a major comfort, for locals and visitors alike.

I stopped just long enough to walk along the river a bit, and to buy some coffee from a local grinder, Square 15. It was to be a gift for my friends in Reno. The faux Bavarian scene can be taken in small doses.

I stopped in Wenatchee,for about two hours, long enough to marvel at the clear air (compared to the smoke which brought me here in prayerful service, three years ago) and to enjoy a fine Hispanic-fusion meal, courtesy of two friends.

I shall send them some Arizona treats, very soon.

The rest of the evening entailed driving down from the central Cascades, and into the western edge of the Great Basin. Some outlying areas reminded me of the Great Plains. There are patches of desolation.

There is a worrisome dryness.

The coulees of the Columbia River, and its tributaries, provide irrigation water, regulated by a series of dams.

One of these is Dry Falls Dam, about a mile south of Grand Coulee.

No, that’s not a fresh-water dolphin, in the river above.

I settled in on a grassy patch, at a little RV park called Country Corners, and slept fairly well, except there was this event called Aurora Borealis, and my tired self couldn’t leap out of the sleeping bag and take a shot or two. Perhaps one or two of you saw it.

The Road to 65, Mile 216: Celestine

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 3, 2015 in Personal goals, Social

July 2, 2015, Prescott- I am grounded. The Nissan’s dash says “Service Engine Soon”, so it will sit in the carport until my mechanic, and everyone else, has gotten the holiday out of their system. It may stay there longer, if the money that I am expecting shows up in my account, tomorrow morning or Saturday. Then, I will catch a shuttle to Phoenix, and a plane to San Diego, and honour my son as his birthday approaches-on Sunday of course, and I would stay in SoCal until Wednesday evening.

I have personal and civic obligations here at base on Independence Day, and these, too, are labours of love. A parade, in which I will be in the Red Cross contingent, a gathering at the American Legion, and the rest of the day with my best friend in Prescott, all of which brought me back here on the 29th of June.

Last night, after I watched “The Celestine Prophecy”, about which more in a moment, I was upbraided on social media, for not being willing to conduct an online dalliance, with someone I’ve never met. What a change, from two years ago, when I was all over the place, trying to figure out what my emotions were and how to deal with them. Most of the people who were in on the mental anguish I was enduring at the time, are still my friends, and God bless every one of them.

This brings me back to “The Celestine Prophecy”. Every American film, it seems, has to have a romantic twist. In this one, Marjorie is pursued by John, captivated by both her beauty and her aura of mystery (he saw her in a vision, that appeared to have taken place in the year 1622). John learns, quickly, to give the lady her space, and eventually sees that it is not the time for them to be together, though they certainly endure a lot- especially at the hands of Jensen, a cartoonish villain (whom John also sees in his vision, replete with wispy, handlebar mustache.)

“Celestine”, a film adaptation of the first of a series of novels by James Redfield, explores the growth of human consciousness and postulates nine principles, revealed in a series of scrolls in ancient times. John, and a group of like-minded souls, seek to find the ninth scroll, which Jensen, representing The Powers That Be (an Illuminati-like entity, who, of course, remain unseen), wants to find first and destroy, lest it tear asunder the power structure.

The upshot of the film is that the quest for power, by the Illuminati and everyone else, is a chimera. Human consciousness is moving steadily to a far deeper level than any materially-oriented force an ever appreciate. It is emerging, regardless of the quibbling, death and destruction that The Powers That Be are visiting upon us, and will continue to visit upon this planet, for a certain time. Real power, however, is spiritual and collective. It is as present in the most humble, vulnerable child, as it is in the person of a brutish, swaggering general ( such as Jensen’s chief minion in the film), and perhaps more so.

So, I sit in a safe, comfortable room, and contemplate my blessings: A strong, hard-working son, a good woman who is a steadfast friend ( and who, much like the film’s Marjorie, is given the space she needs to process all that is going on in her own, considerably complex life), a community that stands firm together, in spite of the callow local government, and a Faith which can carry me through anything at all, and does.

The Road to 65, Mile 204: A Potlatch and A Walking Tour

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 2, 2015 in Hiking and Nature, Social, Travel

June 20, 2015, Victoria- I hit the ground running this morning, though it’d have been easy to laze the day away in Anacortes. A three-hour ride across the straits lay Sidney, BC, a harbour town northeast of Victoria. British Columbia’s capital was participating fully in Canada’s National Aboriginal Day. While this was officially on Sunday, the festivities were going on all weekend, on the grounds of the Royal British Columbia Museum, a magnificent facility, which would have taken up the entire weekend, in and of itself.

I zipped to the ferry station, west of Anacortes, and parked carefully in the day lot, as I would be returning at night.The wharfside featured some competitors for breakfast.

The cormorants far outnumbered the lone gull, however, so he followed us into the water for a while. Our first stop was Friday Harbor, a delightful little town I might like to explore further, some day.

The same is true of Sidney, the small port where we landed. A gruff Customs Officer gave me the third degree, then sent me happily along, to the port’s charming downtown.

My first act was to check Eastview Park, and its sculptures.

The artwork continued, downtown.

I spent about 20 minutes and C$ 10, at Haunted Bookshop, said to be Vancouver Island’s oldest.

The proprietor was kind enough to give me change for the bus to Victoria. I took a double decker, going to the top tier, and engaging in conversation with a Korean student, resident in Vancouver, who was also here on holiday. He was primarily interested in shopping, and in going to Butchart Gardens, which I had already consigned to a future visit. They are another site that is worth a full day, in and of themselves.

Upon arriving at the potlatch site, I took several minutes to wander among the totem poles of the Royal Museum grounds.

I also took in the Helmcken House, home to Dr. John Helmcken and his family, in the late 19th Century. Dr. Helmcken persuaded fellow British Columbians to join the Dominion of Canada.

This carillon, on the north side of the museum grounds, adds a more contemporary touch to the mix.

Once into the Potlatch area, we were set straight as to where we were. The Songhees and Esquimault (Es-KWY-mawl) are working commonly, to preserve Aboriginal fishing rights and guard the health of the waterways.

I was taught, from an early age, that listening and observing were especially important, when in the presence of Native elders. Of course, these skills certainly lend themselves well to getting along in ANY company. I watch a seal-hunting dance, by some of the Songhees people, after having enjoyed a bowl of Vancouver Island-stye clam chowder and fry bread, an Aboriginal staple, across the continent.

While waiting for the walking tour guide, I took in the British Columbia Parliament Building and the Empress Hotel, diagonal from Parliament. The neo-Baroque British Columbia Parliament Buildings were completed by Francis Rattenbury, in 1898.

The Fairmont Empress Hotel, completed in 1908, was the western showpiece of the Canadian Pacific Railroad’s hotel line. It certainly competes with the grand hotels of Montreal, Toronto and Vancouver, in terms of ornateness.

I’m sure Queen Victoria would have approved of the city named in her honour.

Our walking tour started, just after I had paid homage to the Queen. We began at the old harbour, which guide Mark Albany, of the Songhees Nation, explained was traditional Aboriginal fishing ground, though the harbour was largely filled in by the British, for the sake of commerce. It is about half the size of its pre-British days.

Mark was an incisive, fast-moving human encyclopedia.

Human hand and arm sculptures appear at five points, in downtown Victoria. They honour the industry of all workers, who built the city, into a vibrant port.

These Romanesque supports for the downtown evoked Rouen and Vannes, France, for me.

Aboriginal kitchen middens have been preserved, at the water’s edge, by the City Council, as an archaeological zone.

Mark took us in and around the remnants of the Bastion, the original British seaside fortress, meant to defend against the Spanish and Russians, as well as against any Aboriginals who might have had depredatory intentions.

As you might guess, part of this building is now used as a wine cellar.

We looked around the old commercial district, where Mark noted the contrast between the British division of property into parcels, and the Aboriginal notion of land being for common use.

The original cobbles of Victoria’s streets were built of Douglas fir.

As this was soon found to be an unwieldy practice, the British turned to stone and pressed glass pavers for their streets.

I had to bid farewell to Mark,the group (who were mostly Victoria residents, just learning about their city from a First Nations perspective) and to fair Victoria. As the ferry back to Anacortes passed into the strait, a pair of orcas were engaged in feeding.

It wasn’t quite sunset, but the red sails were out.

The trimast also was out, seeking cetaceans for the evening.

I was favourably impressed with Victoria, and will set aside more time, strictly for Vancouver Island, on some future jaunt. For now, though, thought must be given to other areas of the Northwest, before I head southward to my base.

The Road to 65, Mile 214: The Black Tiles

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 1, 2015 in Personal goals, Social

June 30, 2015, Prescott- This is where I resume the practice of writing two posts a day. Morning will feature a reminiscence of the day just prior. Evening will bring a post related to a just-completed journey to the Pacific Northwest and southeast Alaska. Thus, you will not a juxtaposition in the “Miles” referenced.

On June 30, 2013, I was returning from a visit to the Navajo community of Dinebito and the Hopi village of Polacca. Whilst driving through Leupp, on the way back, a bulletin came on KNAU. 19 wildland fire fighters had been killed in a windblown firestorm, at Yarnell, west of Prescott. The team had been based in Prescott itself. The communities of Yarnell and Peeples Valley had been evacuated, thus giving me an exact message as to what had to be done next. I went directly to the Red Cross shelter, at Yavapai College, and served, as needed, there for the next four days, while working around a family event in San Diego.

All of that is now a blur, but the suffering of the “Hot Shot’s” families, ever since, is all too real. Their day-to-day recovery has been undermined by the crusty attitude of many here in the area- “The men knew what they were getting into, when they signed on. Don’t give the survivors a dime more than they’re due already.” Fortunately, enough of us Prescottonians can look beyond that benighted view of life, so that the surviving families have prevailed, in the courts and in every day life. A foundation has been established, to handle the most pressing long-term needs.

There is a tradition, in the firehouse, that a rookie does not step on the set of black tiles that lines the middle of the floor, until he or she has been through a major blaze. The tiles in Station 17, where the Hot Shots were housed, are now enshrined. No one steps on them.

This leads me to thinking. Years ago, my father-in-law took me aside and said, “You have had some fine experiences as a couple, already. You have not, though,as yet, been through more than a minor bump or two. That was in 1985. Since then, everyone who knows me, has witnessed the real rough patches. The years from 2003-2011 were enough for any person’s life education. I have stepped on the black tiles of my own life house. It is a humbling place, and not often a lonely one- thanks to those who have stayed as true friends.

As I stood this afternoon, on the Court House lawn, listening to the Fire Marshall offer words of respect for the fallen, the thought came that, while there is no guarantee that a fresh calamity won’t come our way, tomorrow, the sense of community that transcends even the differences of opinion,which sometime threaten to tear us asunder, will be what lifts us in a healing and forward-moving direction. Yes, love is the secret.

The Road to 65, Mile 203: Evergreen Crossings, Day 1: Anacortes

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 1, 2015 in Hiking and Nature, Social, Travel

June 19, 2015, Anacortes- The ferry brought me in to Bellingham, right on schedule. Taking my sick camera to a Best Buy, in nearby Burlington, for shipment off to a fix-it shop, was my first priority. While waiting for the store to open, I got some coffee and a muffin, and saw the horror we had missed, whilst aboard ship: The Charleston Massacre. I was numb, for a few minutes, then throw-the-book-at-him angry, that this should continue to happen, in the middle of 2015- the midmost heart of the second decade of the 21st Century. Thought then took over- I had just been in a fairly isolated environment, with little interaction with anyone, for nearly two days. There were, however, people of all “racial” groups aboard, and the crew was well-blended. This reflects the Alaska of 2015, which ought to, in turn, reflect the America of this same year. Yet, hearts don’t change. People hold on to the most quotidian of symbols- a gun, an outmoded flag, as if these guarantee some sort of shield from a malevolent external force. Perhaps, in a way, they do. Does that mean, however, that these symbols may be used as malevolent forces of their own- and against people who have been NOTHING BUT LOVING to the individual who now attacks them?

I had to carry on, though, and did, choosing the comforting and picturesque ferry port of Anacortes, as a place to settle for one day, and just walk about, after a comforting nap at Holiday Motel. It’s run by two of the nicest hoteliers I have encountered in the “lower 48”, though I have to say that, how I perceive people is usually how they end up being.

Anacortes has an old church, which is now for sale. Other denominations seem to be thriving, but not this Congregationalist parish. Perhaps it moved over to the west side of town.

I wandered around the east harbour, where there is a skate park, a yacht club and several container vessels. East Anacortes seems to be the more industrial part of town.

Street art seems to be everywhere, these days, and Anacortes has its fair share. There is a Music Festival coming here soon.

I visited the Performing Arts Center’s grounds, after hours, and was overjoyed to see its name.

The venue is to be very active, tomorrow. I will, however, be in Victoria, BC, for a National Aboriginal Canadians Day festival. Still, this is another very comforting thing about this little port.

Hearts come in all shapes and sizes.

They can also be complex.

I wonder if Juliet, or Rapunzel, would favour such a balcony ?

Perhaps, if her suitor were to proffer such a mix of flowers as this.

Wandering, reluctantly, away from Hearts of Anacortes, I found a gem of a different sort. The city includes a waterfront park, at the north harbour. The wharves are largely given over to disuse, and are therefore welcoming to some cormorants.

Could this pass for a dog, or an alligator? Driftwood does inspire flights of fancy.

Spying a fossil shell was a treat.

It appears Nature has her own pictographs.

There were a few other intrepid souls out, enjoying this special park. It is a good mark for a community, when it takes the best of what is placed in its midst. If I ever felt the need to leave Prescott, for another base, Anacortes would be on my short list.

The Road to 65, Mile 196: Southeast IS Northwest, Day 5 On The Water

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on June 16, 2015 in Social, Travel

June 12, 2015, Auke Bay- This waterfront community is Juneau’s northern adjunct, and a vital part of the Mendenhall Valley’s maritime tradition. This is where the ferries head in all directions, and where the major fishing marinas are.

One of the boats docked at Auke Bay is the Anna. She took six of us out to Prospect Point and Barlow Cove, then safely back, by evening.

The sturdy lady is captained by Dave P., a master fisherman and mariner in good standing.

He was assisted by Hari Dave S., a carpenter and roustabout on the high seas.

Once all were aboard, and the kids were properly life-preservered, we were off to untold adventure.

Dreamers never quit, and our dreams were of catching the limit on dungeness crab and halibut. So, we passed by the Chilkat Mountains, and Eagle Glacier.

Captain Dave was going for broke.

The girls were all set to help out.

Here, off Barlow Cove, we set two crab pots.

Then, it was off to Prospect Point, for a couple hours of the master fishermen going after halibut.

My task was simple: Kick back, relax and make sure no one fell in the water.

Sea lions provided comic relief, and a cheering, or maybe booing, section.

The runt of the litter tried to get on board. He had my sympathy.

In the end, the catch was….almost nonexistent. The girls got a hermit crab to take home as a pet. Any time with convivial people is well-spent though, and our day was indicative of so many days spent with a stick in the water. The main thing is being at sea, and knowing that one of these days, the bounty will be provided.

After getting back to Juneau, I went to an Asian restaurant, which served multiple cuisines. I stuck with the low mein, which also would stretch to another meal, in a day or so. Tomorrow will be a different sor tof adventure: A visit to Mendenhall Glacier.

The Road to 65, Mile 187: Northwestward, Day 8: Vancouver, Part 1- Kits Point and Gastown

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on June 5, 2015 in Social, Travel

June 3, 2015, Vancouver- It’s been about thirty one years since I last crossed the border into Canada. back then, it was a driver’s license, pop the trunk and howdy-do to get back and forth. Since 9/11/01, nothing is left to chance.

To be fair, I got in the NEXUS lane by mistake, and was hailed into Customs Hall, while my vehicle was searched. All officials were polite and determined I was hardly a risk. I was cautioned, though, to be prepared to offer a list of those with whom I might be visiting, next time I make a border crossing. That will be useful, as there a few people I would like to visit in BC, later this month- after returning from Alaska. I will also not go in the NEXUS line.

Driving north, I have encountered a few local traffic quirks. In Olympia, WA, for example, the turn lane out of the Capitol Campus, to get back on I-5, is the width of a bicycle lane, and not readily visible. Nonetheless, all the locals are used to it, and there was horn-honking, wailing and gnashing of teeth, when I waited for the left turn signal, whilst occupying what turned out to be the MIDDLE lane.

On BC Hwy. 99, the northward extension of I-5, it is expected that all remain locked in their lanes, and not deviate a hair’s breadth to the right or left- lest there be horn-honking, wailing and more gnashing of teeth. Vancouverites tend to honk at each other as often as southern Californians, though not as often as people in Scottsdale, Phoenix or San Juan, Puerto Rico.

I had no problems, though, in getting to the various parking garages that I used, in what turned out to be a nine hour exploration of Canada’s window on the Pacific. Most of that time, I was on foot. Navigating by car is easy. The Canadian directional signs are small, but well-placed, so as to minimize confusion. I also very much appreciate the lack of billboards.

My first walk was from South Granville to Kits Point, by way of the pedestrian underpass.

Flora of Granville Pedestrian Path

“Where are all the Canadian geese this year?” Why, they’d be up in Canada, of course.

One must use this tunnel, to get to Kits Point on foot or by bicycle. Of course, being South Granville, it’s perfectly safe by day.

This pleasant little park sets the tone for Kits Point, which is a hipster neighbourhood, not used to tourists. I had a mild, but satisfying meatball panini at Epicurean Cafe. Here, I learned that, unlike in the U. S., a patron must bring the ticket up to the counter. Servers do not act as cashiers in Vancouver, I was told.

Here, though, is a reach-out to the people of Latin America.

Canada Centre: This grand building defines downtown Vancouver.

Gastown is a heavily-trod section of downtown; in fact, it is the original European settlement of Vancouver, virtually dating from the arrival of the British.

This is the Steam Clock, which has been here almost as long as the British.

This is the Canadian Railway station, on the waterfront.

The Cenotaph, in Memorial Park, is the beginning of the East End, and the rougher part of town.

I was cautioned, when first making plans for a Vancouver stay, that the East End was not a place in which I would want to spend a night. After walking the area a bit, I can see why one would draw that conclusion. Most of the hotels in that section of East Hastings Street look a tad ragged, primarily residential. I’ve seen similar establishments in Los Angeles, Chicago, London and Paris. The street was alive, though, with people who don’t exactly have it made. I did see a lot of animated behaviour and many seemed to know one another quite well. I kept coming across an older man in a blue pinstriped shirt, walking his dog. He and I were each offered marijuana, by a top-hatted young man who was pretending to sell men’s suits. The dog-walker looked thoroughly shocked. I was non-plussed, and definitely not interested. I didn’t take any photos, as no one is to be treated as a curiosity.

A gratifying element is the Urban Garden, on the south side of the street.

My sentiments exactly. More power to them.

Back in Gastown, I was reminded of when people said I would drive to Canada, when……

Here is one last scene from the original settlement of Vancouver.

It somewhat reminds me of Yonge Street, Toronto.

In the next post, Stanley Park, and the west waterfront, will show the natural side of Vancouver.

The Road to 65, Mile 186: Northwestward, Day 7- Part 1, Olympia

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on June 3, 2015 in Social, Travel

I had been to the Capitol Complex, three years ago, but that was by night. The edifice looks just as imposing in daylight.

I drove up to Washington’s capital, from Chehalis, after enjoying a vanilla latte, bowl of oatmeal, and cranberry scone for breakfast. The last time I was in Olympia was a rush job, in between two attempts at visiting cyber-friends. Neither was available this year, so I focused on becoming more familiar with this delightful little city, at the southern tip of Puget Sound.

I get the feeling it was trying to become more familiar with me. I could swear the capitol dome was watching.

The people of Washington honour their veterans as well as anyone. This imposing sculpture spells Gratitude.

The men shown represent our troops of World War I.

The Hall of Justice evokes its counterpart in Paris.

All is not gray and staid, however.

The Capitol grounds are well-tended.

A lone fir tree stands sentinel, at the east end of the grounds.

On the far eastern end of the Capitol Complex, there is this inspiring poem.

I sought more colour, on this rather overcast day, and found it in downtown Olympia.

This is the old state Capitol, now the office of the Superintendent of Public Instruction. It was the Capitol until 1928.

The present Capitol had its eye on me, even down at the harbour!

There is a calm at the south end of Puget Sound.

I dropped in at Druid’s Nook, out of curiosity and picked up their last copy of Alice Walker’s “Hard Times Require Furious Dancing”. The proprietor and I agreed that people can come up with some very strange notions. Ms. Walker would probably concur, as well.

This is an eclectic supernatural and spiritual shop.

I spotted this spoof of “Hot Tub Time Machine”, while on the way to lunch. Hot fudge was indeed a fun part of my childhood.

Lunch, however, had to be more substantial, sooo:

Cafe Love, it was.

This little safe haven offers paninis, all manner of espresso and lattes, and vegan cupcakes. The Northwest is downright Texan, when it comes to cupcakes. It seems I’ve spotted them on every other corner, In Portland and in Olympia.

I did not stop in Seattle. It was beginning rush hour, when I passed the exit to Pike Place, and I wanted to take in at least one of the public gardens in the north Puget city of Everett. Legion Park, and Everett’s north waterfront, will take up the next post, along with the border town of Blaine.

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